


Professions

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Wanted (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9152908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: Based on 2016 film- Callum reflects on his past until he is confronted by another assassin whom has no ties to the Creed or to the Templars(crappy summary)(sorry, i never played Assassin's Creed)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE  
> my belated Fassavoy

At best, Callum's memory was spotty: he remembered the most important key-points of his forefathers' lives and seemed to forget the most minor and trivial of details.

_How many of us are there?_

Presently, a grand total of four – he chose a small greenhouse sitting at the top of a Manhattan slum, whereas they opted to take up the professional mantles of the upper class.

_Who are we?_

No ladders which led directly upward conveniently swung from the rusted fire escapes, no jagged surfaces which could be easily climbed covered the derelict apartment complex, just remote enough and hidden that even the most advanced city drone worth it's weight in money had the hardest time locating his safe-house.

_What are we?_

The top two cleaned floors overlooked the slums and the Manhattan river, long black slivers of plastic blew in the gentle breeze, the ghosts of his past tread softly upon leather boots in and out of the shadows – from the darting white silhouette of his ancestor Ezio Auditore to the Irish-American immigrant whom was his father.

Many generations whispered silvery Latin words, a speckling of rough American accent belonged to his parents – each voice, once individual and resonant, soon became one which spoke to him of the many ideals passed on through the ages from the conception of the Assassin's Creed to the modern times he lived within.

First, there was a breeze, almost within the split-second of hearing the whistle, Callum darted into the shadows, his hood holding evidence of the bullet meant for his head, the whizzing crack of the bullet smashed against the concrete to his right, he glanced to his left, beyond the plastic ghosts groaning as the breeze lessened, the bullet's trail unmistakable against the rising moon's light.

_CIA? FBI? INTERPOL?_

He made sure to keep his hood up, his face out of the cameras, his clothing common, the colors mute and his manner of being forgettable, yet absolute – like a common street side commuter.

_Templar? Abstergo?_

None could completely wipe out the Templar, and the Abstergo were obsolete, but none could truly say if he ended the business's dealings with the world he strove to better or the civilians he lived amongst – he dove offside the wall, his hands catching unto the ledge of a window on the opposite side of the apartment he lived within, he found a single silver bullet casing with etched swirls which encouraged the bullet to spin – and thusly, ridding itself of a signature from the barrel it was shot from.

_Rogue._

He searched the dusty ground for footprints and found only planks which webbed the entire apartment complex together from room to room, he found plain paper bags of fast food, drops of dried water and a slight disturbance in the planks' aligning – the shooter got out in a hurry.

_Independent._

He touched a work desk where tiny slivers of metallic dust shone in a dying candle's light, he rubbed his fingers together until the fine dust fluttered from his fingertips – handmade bullets, and signature made by only one kind of assassin he knew of:

“The Brotherhood-?” Callum whispered to himself, he found a tiny diamond file which lay in the side of the wall just beneath the desk's leg - a mistake or a trap leaving the diamond file behind, he tucked the file into his pocket - he recalled a thin network of gossip concerning the Brotherhood, gossip of a lone assassin ridding the underground network of all but himself, he marched through the flat building, “A lone Idealist.”

Intrigued, Callum decided then to find the lone idealist who wanted his head.

**Author's Note:**

> crappy edit....sorry  
> i plan to add more stand alone installments, & end this sucker with a smut...eh, big dreams


End file.
